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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770179">And if you leave me so, you do me wrong</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onestepatatime32/pseuds/onestepatatime32'>onestepatatime32</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Romeo &amp; Juliet - Takarazuka Revue, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic, Takarazuka Revue Musicals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, tagged for ben/merc but it’s mostly mentioned in hindsight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:28:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>966</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onestepatatime32/pseuds/onestepatatime32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Death follows Benvolio Montague everywhere he goes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mercutio/Benvolio Montague</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And if you leave me so, you do me wrong</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Mostly just a short character drabble of Benvolio after the events of the play.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Verona was silent. For the first night in many months the streets were deserted; no laughter or drunken song could be heard spilling from the bars, no youths embraced or danced or fought under the stars. Less than a fortnight ago Benvolio had longed for peace like this, but now as he wandered aimlessly he wished something, anything would appear to break the oppressive silence and distract him from the whispering ghosts in his mind. There wasn’t an inch of this street that didn’t hold some memory; there’s the fruit stall that had always been their favorite meeting place, there's the corner where Mercutio had kissed him breathless on a cloudy night and the fountain where he and Romeo used to play as children. The three of them had spent their whole lives together here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benvolio had seen his cousin buried yesterday. Even the weather had been unnervingly silent as the two families wept together. So many dead in so short a time….friends, enemies, lovers, family. Benvolio had always worried about his friends, of course—Romeo was so young, and Mercutio so reckless—but even his nightmares had never approached this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The three of them had never been apart; when Benvolio’s parents had died Romeo and his parents had immediately latched onto him and given him a home, and in return he had done his best to look out for his younger cousin. Mercutio was only a few months younger than Benvolio and started to follow them doggedly around the same time. They’d become fast friends almost immediately. Now the memories seemed to mock him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn't bear to remember Mercutio's blood on his hands, or the way Romeo’s face fell when he told him that Juliet had taken her own life. He couldn’t bear to remember Tybalt’s eyes staring into nothing. He couldn't bear to remember, and yet it was impossible </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to. Not here in the streets where he grew up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn't bear to return to the Montague family home yet either, despite the assurances of his uncle and aunt that he was always welcome. He wasn't ready to face them; they needed comfort and happy memories, but he was sure all they would see if he spoke to them would be the guilt in his eyes. He had failed. Failed to hold Mercutio back, failed to hold Romeo back, failed to see... He should have known better than to leave Romeo in Mantua; should have told him to wait, or gone with him, but he was too cowardly. He had paid for his cowardice. Romeo had paid for his cowardice, and by consequence so had Juliet. Sixteen years old...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benvolio was startled from his thoughts by a voice calling his name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Benvolio!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Mercutio. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He shook his head, reminding himself that this could be no more than a hallucination of grief and exhaustion. It was not Mercutio. Or perhaps it was; perhaps the ghosts who haunted his dreams had followed him into his waking hours as well. The voice called out urgently again and he rounded the corner into a damp alley.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He recognized the ethereal, insubstantial figure who waited for him there in an instant. He had seen their face more and more frequently of late; waiting in the shadows as the fights grew more bloody, dancing in the candeleight of the capulets’ ball, gazing at him with cold, inscrutable eyes as Mercutio’s hand went limp in his. They had been in the Capulet crypt; had laid a hand on his arm, led him into the tomb, and shown him the blood-soaked bodies of the two young lovers. He knew the figure by sight and name now, but they had never spoken to him. Why do so now, and why in his lover’s voice?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Benvolio…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew the alley they stood in. He knew all of Verona. He and Mercutio had hidden from the Capulets here once; Mercutio was hurt, and Benvolio had scolded him and begged him to never do anything dangerous again. Mercutio had laughed and kissed him to deflect the concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every street held a memory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it you want with me? Haven’t you had enough?” Benvolio couldn’t keep his voice from breaking, not tonight. Whatever strength he had to keep himself from crumbling in front of his family and acquaintances was nowhere to be found as he looked into the magnetic eyes before him and heard Mercutio’s voice echoing in his mind.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no response, simply a tilted head and silvery hair falling over dark, shadowed garments. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benvolio curled in on himself. “Why did you take them...any of them?”</span>
  <em>
    <span> They were so young...god, they were all so young</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Why...why didn’t you take me?” He whispered, barely able to hear himself over the roaring in his ears. He hated himself for the tears in his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once again, the figure said nothing, this time simply extending a hand towards Benvolio. There was an offer in their eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to take that cold, inviting hand. Wanted to know the peace it promised, to be free from the memories and ghosts in every rotten inch of this town and its pitying glances, delicate questions, and hollow reassurances. It was empty for him now, without Romeo’s laugh or Mercutio’s hands in his. The peaceful spectre continued to wait. With a final shudder Benvolio jerked back and dragged himself to his feet. He shook his head. Perhaps someday, but not yet. This place had seen enough tragedy to last a hundred lifetimes, and even if the silence of the streets consumed him from the inside out he could not allow the uneasy peace to shatter so soon. No one needed another funeral to attend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Death smiled softly in farewell as Benvolio turned towards his family’s home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  
</p>
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